


Cravings

by Trotzkopf



Series: Cravings [1]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abel Gibson (OC), Book: Unseen Academicals, Core Willis (OC), Drunk Vetinari, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 19:37:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12871569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trotzkopf/pseuds/Trotzkopf
Summary: It is written, the Patrician returned home at 4:30am after drinking twelve pints of Winkle's Old Peculiar, Mages' Special, at the UU football meeting. It's more or less a five minute walk between UU and the palace. But what if he had left UU at 3am?A dark alley, thugs, kebab, a drunk ruler and a possessed Commander of the Watch make for interesting 90 minutes. Anything could happen.





	Cravings

It was just past three in the morning when Havelock Vetinari, Patrician, stepped out of Unseen University into The Backs to take a more scenic road back to the palace, which also meant no upstanding citizen would see the ruler of the city taking extremely careful steps to walk a straight line. What kind of upstanding citizen was up and about at three in the morning was anyone’s guess. Still, the Patrician would rather not be seen by anyone in his current condition which was why he had sent Drumknott and the clerks home hours ago. He had also dismissed his coach after the driver had dropped him off earlier in the day, knowing it would be a late night or rather early morning. And although Mr Daisy was usually content to wait, even the Patrician felt it was somewhat pointless to have the man sit around until the wee hours for what was essentially a five minute stroll on foot. 

“Or maybe ten,” Vetinari mused out loud and suppressed a belch. He rarely drank but circumstances had forced him tonight to use unconventional methods to bend the rules to his advantage. It was now twelve pints of Winkle’s Old Peculiar, Mages’ Special, later and the world had taken on a rather warm and fuzzy feeling. Very odd. Not unpleasant as such just…maybe he wasn’t drunk after all, although Mustrum Ridcully had assured him he was _drunk as a skunk_. Wasn’t there a test for inebriation that the Watch used? Now, how did that go again?

“Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper pitted. Pitted? Picked! I _am_ drunk.”

“Evenin’ guv,” a voice like a greasy spoon spoke from the shadows. 

Vetinari stopped and adjusted his stance. Years of training kicked in even after a decade of disuse. Some things were just honed into the fabric of your being, even if said being was as it were drunk as a skunk.

However, the good news was, if the seemingly disembodied voice was anything to go by, the owner was not an upstanding citizen and a long way from the Shades. “Good evening, Mr Willis.” Vetinari greeted the thug. After all, Captain Carrot was not the only person with an encyclopaedic knowledge of the people of Ankh-Morpork.

He couldn’t see him yet but the sudden silence told the Patrician the other man had stopped dead in his tracks. 

“And in that case, I believe Mr Gibson is about eight paces behind me. Oh, no need to be shy. Please join us.” Vetinari took a surprisingly stable step sideways so his back was to the opposite wall and he could observe as Willis and Gibson materialised from the shadows. Moonlight glinted on steel as the thugs drew their knives with a hiss. 

“Core, is that who I think he is?” Gibson wheezed. 

“Why, I believe so. Well, well, well. His lordship Havelock Vetinari in the flesh. Gibs, I think we gonna be famous,” Willis cackled and took another step while spinning his knife.  

“How’s that?” Gibson enquired.

Willis, obviously the brains of the outfit, replied, “Cause we gonna be known as the ones what offed the Patrician.” 

The thugs advanced slowly. Vetinari stood still, and then he smiled. It had been a long time since- 

“Drop your weapons in the name of the law!” growled a familiar voice from the direction of the university.

“Nope, don’ think so,” Willis grinned, still staring at Vetinari who, for some reason, was still smiling at him. 

“Listen, you numpties-

“Tsk! Piss off, copper!” Gibson spat, taking his eyes off his prey. A mistake, as he would find out a second later when his non-corporeal self looked down on what used to be the mortal shell of Abel Gibson, unlicensed thief and occasional murderer. 

“Woah, what now?” The late Mr Gibson shouted at no-one in particular. 

“ABEL GIBSON?” 

“Who wants to know - oh!”

“YES.”

“Are you takin’ the piss?” 

Death paused. “NOT USUALLY, NO. AND NOW-” 

“Wha’? Right now? I mean-“

“VERY WELL. WE CAN WAIT A FEW MORE SECONDS, MR WILLIS WON’T BE LONG.” 

*~*

Vimes sheathed his sword as he advanced. The Patrician was cleaning his stiletto on the late Willis’ trouser leg before the blade vanished into the folds of his robe. 

“Good evening, Commander,” Vetinari said calmly as he straightened up and swayed. Vimes reached out and grabbed the other man’s arm, his face morphing from sour to shocked as Vetinari patted his helping hand before he shrugged him off and sauntered somewhat unsteadily to the end of the street. 

“Technically, it’s morning, sir. Ye gods, you smell like a brewery!” Vimes held his nose as the Patrician walked passed him. 

“Do I? I’m afraid I can’t tell.” He waved a hand in the air and then turned so abruptly Vimes had to take a few hasty steps to help Vetinari regain his balance. “Oh sorry, is that a problem? I do apologise,” he said once he was able to stand by himself. 

Vimes suppressed a snigger. “Thank you, sir. That’s very considerate of you, but I’m fine. As long as you don’t try to pour a pint of Winkle’s down _my_ throat, this won’t be an issue. Good grief, you are drunk. That’s one for the books.” 

Vetinari nodded in silent agreement before he said, “That was rather fortuitous timing, Commander” 

“Was in the neighbourhood,” Vimes lied. 

Vetinari narrowed his eyes. “You waited until I left and followed me? I’m touched.”

The corner of Vimes’ mouth twitched. “Didn’t look like you needed any help back there. How did you do it? You can barely stand.” 

Vetinari shrugged. “Old habits die hard.” 

A shadow seemed to fall over Vimes’ face who was famous for his dislike of assassins. Truth be told, he was famous for disliking practically everyone, Vetinari included. Well, at least he was democratic about it. 

“So it seems,” the Commander grumbled, fishing for his cigar case. He struck a match on a wall and blew out a smoke ring. Vetinari coughed and waved it away. 

“Vimes, you have traded one bad habit for-“ He was interrupted when his stomach growled rather loudly. 

“Ah yes,” the Commander chuckled. “I remember that.”

“If you have anything insightful to share, please do.” 

There was a nasty glint in Sam’s eyes when he asked, “Fancy a kebab?” 

*~*

Vimes grinned at him with his mouth full of greasy meat of uncertain origin. 

“You’re enjoying this,” Vetinari observed with furrowed brows before he took a first, hesitant bite. 

“Good, isn’t it?” 

Yes, it was. “It will do,” Vetinari admitted. He already felt a lot more focussed but he saw no need to update the Commander just yet, who seemed to be delighted with his - Vetinari’s - inebriated state. 

After they had suitably disguised the Patrician with Gibson’s hat and Willis’ coat, the Commander had let him through backstreets to Cheapside where he had procured two pouches made of flat bread dripping with fat and smelling like a heart attack in the making. 

“Coppers always know where to get grub at all hours,” Vimes explained as he handed Vetinari his share. 

They had settled on a bench by the river in Rime Street with a view up Butts Street all the way to the opera house and ate in companionable silence. 

“What would the duchess say if she knew you are eating this?” Vetinari asked nonchalantly between bites. 

“The booze is making you cheeky, your lordship. Exactly which part was supposed to wind me up, the duchess or the hint at blackmail?” Vimes asked just as calmly before shoving the last piece of bread into his mouth. Vetinari flashed him a quick smile. 

“That’s what I thought,” grumbled Vimes. “How are you feeling now, sir?“ He asked, stretching his arms before folding his hands behind his head as a leaned backward. 

After some deliberation, Havelock replied, “I feel like I licked the bottom of a vat of spicy lard after drinking twelve pints of Winkle’s.” 

Vimes barked a short laugh, “Sounds good to me.”

A bloodcurdling howl ripped through the night. 

“I see Sergeant Angua is on patrol,” said Vetinari.

“Yes, she is working that Fiveways case. Sounds like she is making progress.” 

Vetinari looked at Vimes who was staring out into the darkness. His eyes were following movements but all the Patrician could make out was the night. 

“What do you see?” he asked. 

Vimes’ Adam’s apple bobbed before he replied, “Two thieves on the opera house. Stripping the copper off the roof again. I told Kipper to look into this, damnit.”

Vetinari regarded him with a pensive frown before he asked, “What else can you do now?” There was no need to elaborate. Just a few weeks ago the Commander had acquired a passenger, if you will. A curse made real. It had carved its mark into his flesh. The dwarves had called it the Summoning Dark. Vimes called it a bloody nuisance. 

“I don’t know. I try not to think about it.”

Not known for discarding anything that could be potentially useful to the city, Vetinari enquired, “But it does give you other skills?” 

Vimes shrugged, eyes looking everywhere except his conversation partner. 

“Commander,” the Patrician’s voice had a slight edge to it. Reluctantly, Sam turned his head. “Tell me what really happened in Koom Valley.” 

“You’re remarkably inquisitive for a drunken man,” Vimes deflected. 

“Maybe I’m just good at acting sober,” Vetinari countered. “What happened to you, Commander?”

“You’ve read the reports.” Evasive, stubborn as always, but Vetinari wasn’t having it. 

“Reports tell me what you want me to think, but they do indicate you should be dead right now. If that demon kept you alive, it might be useful. If it is a liability then I need to know that, too. I’m asking you once again, tell me what happened under the mountain.” 

Vimes sat up straight and put his hands in his lap. He stared out onto the river for a long time.

“I’d rather not, sir.”

Vetinari sucked in air through gritted teeth. If the other man was this stubborn about it, the situation was more serious than he had thought. He tried a different approach. “Vimes, I know it’s eating at you - don’t give me that look. This is your one time chance to unburden yourself. Think of this as a confessional and I’m your priest, sworn to secrecy, and I also happen to be tipsy from dipping into the holy wine. You have nothing to lose.”

It was somewhat gratifying to see Vimes squirm, torn between amusement and dread. Eventually, he replied, “Maybe I should. But just so we’re clear, I’m only telling you because you’re drunk and will not remember this tomorrow.” Vetinari pointedly refrained from commenting. 

“I think…I think I died down there. My body shattered on the rocks, lungs filled with ice water but that…that _thing_ reached into me and found a door, a way in. It’s like that demon, or whatever it is, can use the bits I keep under lock and key and turn them into…I don’t know, power, energy? It tapped into my anger and gave me the strength to pull myself out of that current. That’s how I survived. I clung to that feeling and let it drive me. I could see those Deep Downers in pitch black darkness and I wanted them dead.”

Vetinari cleared his throat. “Are you sure it was the demon’s doing?”

Vimes shook his head. “Not as such, and that’s the worst bit. The Summoning Dark takes what’s already there and magnifies it. I was out for blood. Nothing else mattered. Not the law, not Koom Valley, not my family. Just vengeance. At the end of the day, I’m just another Gibson with a badge.”  

“No, you’re not, Vimes.”

“Yes, I am! If the others hadn’t shown up when they did, I would have slaughtered them all, and I would have enjoyed it.”

“Commander,” Vetinari sighed, “I believe we had this conversation before. Your problem is that you view the world in black and white, whereas reality tends to be shades of grey. The truth is, we all have the potential to be Willis or Gibson, but we can choose not to be. You have a choice.”

Vimes shook his head, “Only up to a point. Deep down we are who we are.”

"The leopard can't change his shorts," Vetinari said almost automatically and then added, "But he has to keep trying."

"Yeah," Vimes agreed.

Vetinari considered this for a few heartbeats. He looked at the Commander’s profile who was again staring into the night of their city. _Their_ city. There was nothing neither of them wouldn’t do to keep this magnificent, filthy melting pot going, but would it be enough? Was Vimes’ predicament going to be a threat? 

As if reading his mind, Sam said, “I will keep the peace. That’s what I do and that’s what I will continue to do. No quasi demonic entity is going to tell me how to take care of my city.” 

“No, I will do that,” Vetinari deadpanned. Vimes barked a short laugh, “Like I said, no quasi demonic entity is going to tell me how to take care of my city.” 

“You mean my city,” Vetinari needled. They stared at each other, mouths twitching. The tension continued until Vimes looked away first, hiding a grin behind his hand. 

“Commander,” Havelock began. Vimes turned his head. “Consider this, neither Willis nor Gibson would have ever dreamed of keeping any sort of peace, let alone putting the need of others above their own base urges. Maybe you are an angry, cynical bastard, but you’re not, as it were, a bad man.” 

They stared at each again. Of course, Vetinari didn’t believe in the absolutes of good and evil, but Vimes did. And it seemed to matter a great deal to him to try not to be the latter, especially since he suspected he was. In a way, the Commander was proof that Vetinari was right. Here was a man who looked his own considerable darkness in the face on a daily basis and told it to go fuck itself before he went out in the city and prodded buttock, upsetting pretty much everyone in the process. If that wasn’t grey, nothing was. 

Vimes was giving him a funny look. 

“Is there something on my face, Commander?” 

“I’m just glad you’re probably not going to remember this conversation in a few hours.” 

“What makes you think I won’t?” 

“You just gave me a pep talk and neither of us would live that down if we both remembered it. Or if you do, blame it on the booze, I certainly will,” the Commander explained as he got to his feet.

While he was sure he would remember every single detail about this night, Vetinari decided to take the hint, if only to do the other man a favour. It seemed fair after he had introduced him to greasy junk food that had turned out to be exactly what he had needed. The thought made him feel warm and fuzzy again. Still a strange sensation and somewhat distracting. He resolved to drink only when he absolutely had to. A man in his position couldn’t afford to get distracted. Speaking of his position, “I think you might be correct, Commander. Isn’t it fascinating? Alcohol seems to have the ability to transcend established boundaries.”

“Yep, we’re all equal before the mighty booze,” Vimes agreed.

“How very democratic,” Vetinari observed. 

The first clock struck four in the morning, breaking the spell and ringing in the end of the most personal discussion they had ever had. Both men looked in the direction of the palace. 

“We should get you home, sir,” Vimes suggested. 

*~*

They crossed Contract Bridge and turned right behind the armoury, weaving their way through the back alleys. Although he was much steadier on his feet, Vetinari repeatedly seemed to brush against Vimes’ arm as they proceeded onward. If the other man noticed, he refrained from commenting. 

To pass the time, Havelock replayed their earlier conversation and made a mental note to look into the Summoning Dark again. So far Vimes seemed to have it under control but it was better to be save than sorry. The Commander was too valuable to lose. Oh, Vetinari had no qualms about sending him out among the nasty, small-minded people of the city where he had to risk his neck on a daily basis. But Havelock had faith in Vimes’ stubbornness and own brand of genius to navigate the waters of Ankh-Morpork. A demon, however, was an element of uncertainty, and Vetinari despised uncertainty. 

He glanced sideways at Vimes: an honest man who was a little too aware of his own darkness, and he - Vetinari - an undoubtedly evil man who tried to do what was necessary for the greater good. He suppressed a chuckle, they made quite the pair. It was a shame, the Patrician reflected, that Vimes hated him, under different circumstances they might have been friends. 

“Vimes, how long does this drunkenness last? I seem to be getting _sentimental_ ,” Vetinari observed, slightly disgusted with himself. The food had certainly helped clear his head a bit, but apparently drunk was a prolonged experience. 

“Sentimental?” Vimes gasped. “This night is really one for the-“

Several things happened at once. Before the thieves dashed around the corner Vetinari had already grabbed the Commander’s sleeve to pull him aside. At the same time Vimes had pushed the Patrician out of the way. The resulting momentum crashed Vetinari’s back into the wall where he was all but squashed by Vimes who was barrelling into him. 

The sound of running feet vanished into the night. Neither man noticed. Their mouth connected in what was undoubtedly one of the worst kisses in history. Vimes’ lips caught the corner of Vetinari’s mouth, who somehow managed to nick the Commander with his teeth. They both exhaled in surprise before they scrambled apart. 

They were gaping at each other, shoulders heaving. Vetinari was the first to find his voice again.“Don’t worry, Vimes, I didn’t mind. No harm done.” 

“You…don’t?” 

“Why no-“

“I’m sorry,” Vimes panted. 

Vetinari tried to straighten his clothes. “It was clearly an accident.” 

“No, not for that. For this.” Before he could ask what Vimes had meant, the man stepped closer again, took Vetinari’s face in both hands and smashed their mouth together. 

It was the strangest thing, Vetinari reflected later, that sometimes one only craved something when one was made aware that it was available. Like now when his Grace, the Duke of Ankh, Commander of the City Watch, Sir Samuel Vimes was kissing him within an inch of his life. 

Only five minutes ago, he would have scoffed at the mere notion of intimacy between them. So far, the only interest Vimes had ever professed in him was to be the one to inhume him when the time came. But this here was altogether unexpected albeit not unwelcomed if his body’s reaction was anything to go by. On the contrary, it seemed to be very invested in keeping the momentum going. 

One of Vetinari’s hands had found its way into Vimes’ hair while the other settled on his back, dragging him closer. Both men moaned into the kiss when their lower bodies connected. The friction just enough to be frustrating. They tasted of spicy meat mixed with booze and cigars - all three of them definitely not good for your health, but oh so addictive. 

Vetinari hadn’t even known he craved this and now he was uncertain how to stop. Even the most controlled individual had a few vices, and he would be the first to admit that he was a man made of shades of grey, rendering any moral objections to their current affair somewhat mute. In the end, the Commander came to his rescue again when he pulled back, whispering a desperate, “No,” against Havelock’s lips before staggering backward. 

Vimes looked horrified, shaking his head, muttering, “It can’t be,” over and over again. 

Vetinari’s voice cut through the relative quiet. “I apologise, Commander.” Although Vimes had been the aggressor, he felt he had taken advantage of a vulnerable man. 

To his surprise, Vimes barked a bitter laugh. “ _You’re_ sorry?” 

“I should have taken your condition into consideration before I allowed this to happen.”

“ _Allowed_ this to happen?” 

Vetinari raised an eyebrow, “You will recall The Backs where I believe the corpses of two criminals are growing colder by the minute. It was just an hour ago, and here I thought I was the one with the alcohol induced memory problems.” 

Vimes rubbed his face as if he could erase the last four minutes. Vetinari’s lips still tingled. 

_The Summoning Dark takes what’s already there and magnifies it._

Was this the demon’s doing? It seemed a likely explanation. There was after all no way Vimes would have done this out of his own accord. 

_What’s already there._

“Sam?” 

It had the desired effect. Vimes stared at Vetinari as he cautiously moved closer. He could see the muscles in the Commander’s throat constricting. His whole body seemed tense, ready to flee or fight, but he stubbornly stood still and waited. 

“I will not hold this against you. And I will not mention it ever again - unless you want me to.” 

“No! I mean- No! I don’t know what came over me. This was- I mean-“ 

Vetinari held up a hand. “You said it yourself. I’m so drunk, I won’t remember it in a few hours anyway. If that’s what you want, I suggest you do the same.” 

“Why do you keep saying that?” Vimes snarled. Havelock raised both eyebrows. 

“ _If that’s what you_ _\- I - want_! Of course, I don’t. Damn! I mean I didn’t want any of this in the first place,” he waved his hand between them. 

They stared at each other for a few heartbeats. Vimes' shoulders were still heaving, his face was flushed, and now somehow unable to un-see, Havelock noticed that the other’s lips were slightly parted. He made a mental note not to notice such details around Sam Vimes in the future. Instead, he would memorise and review them after there was some proximity between them. 

Another howl - much closer this time - echoed through the night, drawing the Commander’s attention. 

“Don’t let me detain you,” Vetinari said. “Even in my current state, I’m certain I can make it home from here, and you clearly need to be elsewhere.” 

For a moment it looked like Vimes wanted to protest, his body already half-poised to run off to join the chase, turned toward Vetinari, torn between the duty to protect his master and his city. 

 _What’s already there._  

Their eyes locked. They knew. They both knew this wasn’t over. On the contrary, this was only the beginning, but it had to wait. For now, there was the chase, and Vetinari groaned inwardly when he thought about his full schedule that would start in a mere four hours. 

They both nodded and Vimes took off, feet slapping on the cobbles until he was swallowed by the night. 

Havelock sighed, clasping his hands behind his back, he made his way toward the Brass Bridge where he dropped the hat and coat into the river. The palace soon came into view. Despite his earlier assertion that he couldn't afford to get distracted, he found his thoughts circling around Sam Vimes and whether the leopard could indeed not change his shorts. Because if that was true, what did that mean for them?

It had most certainly been a fascinating night. 

The End


End file.
